


Experiment

by Maevanna



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maevanna/pseuds/Maevanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Murdoch, there are better ways than alcohol. James will charm him with science, intoxicate him with inventions. It’ll work, he is sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in between everything, and definitely before "The Filmed Adventures".

James Pendrick is a man of the new age. The twentieth century is still shimmering with promised prospects for him. There is so much to build, to plan, to construct in his mind and try to put on paper. Not many people can keep up with him. That makes the company of people who do so much more invigorating. And nobody follows his thoughts more closely than Inspector William Murdoch.

His opinion of Murdoch had shifted far too early on from irritation to a grudging respect. Apart from his dogged insistence that James was the villain behind every plot he discovered, the man was undeniably brilliant. Now that they have met again by chance, entirely without the usual backdrop of murder and treachery, they’re actually enjoying each other’s company.

The search for an elusive mechanical part needed for one of his experiments had brought James to a clockmaker’s shop just in time to see the Inspector pay for that very part. After unsuccessfully trying to buy it from him, James managed to convince Murdoch to conducting the experiment at his workshop instead, bribing him with the promise of some newly bought hard-to-find paraphernalia. Now he’s watching Murdoch pick through a box of spare screws, the already seemingly at home in James’s workshop. That is, after all, one of Murdoch’s defining characteristics – the way his stiffness melted away to reveal boyish enthusiasm as in front of anything mechanical and sufficiently complicated. James would say it is the man’s most endearing characteristic as well. It certainly isn’t his righteousness. Or his tendency to arrest James for any and every crime imaginable. Although… James laughs quietly, and Murdoch turns to give him an inquisitive look. When James merely shrugs, Murdoch turns back to his work. James resumes his gazing. The detective is of no interest to James, but the scientist, the inventor, keeps James’s eyes fixed on every precise movement. He is undeniably attractive.  
James Pendrick is a man who knows what he wants. More importantly, he is a man who gets what he wants. And for a while now, he has realised that he wants William Murdoch.

Murdoch asks him something, and James has to rewind the question in his head before answering. He’s far too easily distracted, he needs to pull himself together. This evening is a chance too good to miss. Murdoch is easily convinced of the advantage of staying the night in order to finish the project, especially as the weather is not inviting a late walk home. A quick meal is easily rustled up when their stomachs at last force them to take a break from their work. The wine James chooses to go with it is good, and loosens Murdoch’s demeanor even more. A less clever man might try to get his way with wine, but James knows better. It might work, or it might not, but any victory won that way would be shallow at best. Added to that is the fact that he knew Murdoch to be a restrained drinker.

No. With Murdoch, there are better ways than alcohol. James will charm him with science, intoxicate him with inventions. It’ll work, he is sure of it. Even from the beginning, he has seen that half-infatuated look in Murdoch’s eyes as James showed him his mechanical toys. Now, he can see Murdoch watching him as much as he watches Murdoch. James makes his movements more deliberate, pushes his cuffs up to expose more of his hands, brushes his fingers against Murdoch’s as they work together. He counters every “Mr. Pendrick” with a “James, please”, until he has the pleasure of hearing Murdoch calling him by his Christian name. He talks, a steady stream of calculations and ideas, weaving the spell tighter – if such an unscientific term could be used.

James doesn’t know much about Murdoch’s relationship with the doctor, but he has gathered that it isn’t going too well at the moment. Not that Murdoch talks about it, but it is there in some comments, some remarks that reveals more than the man probably thinks. They might sort it out, or they might not. James doesn’t much care. This, this is nothing that he expects will last, doesn’t even want it to. But the signs of loneliness are clear for someone who knows what to look for, and James knows all too well. That will work to his advantage, too.

The first trial is a spectacular failure. Rather than getting discouraged, they pick up the pieces and start over again. Murdoch is laughing. He is down to his shirt cuffs now, jacket and waistcoat draped primly over a chair, his neat hair just the slightest bit mussed. James deems it’s time for the next move. He finishes greasing the gears and wipes his hands inefficiently on a rag. When he shortly thereafter pushes his hair away from his forehead, the black oil he’s carefully left on the back of one hand marks a streak across his cheek on the way. He can see it out of the corner of his eye, and he can see Murdoch noticing too.

“Here, you have something…”

Murdoch picks up the rag, looks at it with an expression of mild distaste, and puts it down again. He walks over to the chair and rummages in the folds of his jacket, returning with his own handkerchief. Oh, this is going even better than James expected.

“Just let me”, he says, and James makes sure not to answer, seemingly completely transfixed by the fastening of a nut and bolt.

Murdoch puts a hand on the side of James’s head to turn his face towards him. James gives him a confused look, and Murdoch smiles sheepishly, points at the smudge on James’s cheek. He dabs at it with his handkerchief. It comes away stained with black. James reaches up to touch his cheek just as Murdoch returns his hand for another try at getting the oil away. Their fingers meet, James’s trapping Murdoch’s for a moment. Then he lowers his hand, letting his fingers trail over the back of Murdoch’s hand, resting a short while against the fluttering pulse at Murdoch’s wrist before falling away. James swallows, meets Murdoch’s eyes, holds his gaze for a short while. What he sees is promising, very promising indeed.

Now comes the tricky part. James can’t let Murdoch overthink this. He gets back to work, making sure that he needs Murdoch’s help as often as possible. The act of putting together delicate machinery in perfect synchronization, working together in blissful harmony as if they were one person instead of two, all of it helps James’s plan. Of course. But he has more reasons than that. The enchantment he’s attempting is not the romantic, candlelit kind, but something modern, where the bright light of electric lamps keeps them both firmly in the present, in the future even. James needs Murdoch to be the scientist now, open to all possibilities, embracing all that is new. He has to keep the Catholic part of Murdoch away for now, keep the guilt and sin and medieval morals at bay with constant reminders of the futuristic.

After a failed second try, they decide to abandon their experiment for tonight, instead looking over the blueprints of some of James’s more high-flying projects, the ones that will have to wait until he gets some sort of funding. By unspoken agreement, they make sure not to mention that. Instead, Murdoch is appropriately impressed by James’s schemes, mixing praise with suggestions for improvement. They are standing close together, and it is easy to make the distance even smaller, step by step. James touches Murdoch’s shoulder to draw his attention to something. Murdoch puts his hand on James’s to steer him when he’s tracing a line on a picture of soaring buildings. James wraps an arm around Murdoch’s waist to draw him closer still when he needs to point out some of the finer details and, Murdoch leans into the touch, his body aligning itself to fit better against James’s side.

When James turns to say something and finds Murdoch’s face close to his, lips slightly parted, the words are instantly forgotten. It would be very easy now, to just take what he wants, but he needs it to be Murdoch’s own idea, his own impulse that pushes them over the border into a territory that they really entered as soon as Murdoch stepped into the workshop. Murdoch seems frozen in his place, his mouth still open, and James has to do something. He licks his lips, trying to think of the best course of action, but that seems to have been enough. Murdoch makes a sound low in his throat and closes the distance between them.

Murdoch slides his hand from James’s cheek to the back of his neck. His fingers curls in James’s hair, tugging gently as he presses James’s head closer. This is good, this is even better than James had hoped. Just as Murdoch’s restrained demeanor hid a passionate inventor, it had apparently concealed passion of the more usual kind. Murdoch kisses fervently, with more eagerness than finesse, as if the need for air has been substituted for something else. It is up to James to break the connection, instead trailing quick kisses over Murdoch’s forehead and temples as Murdoch bends his head, panting and gasping. Murdoch’s hands are on James’s shoulders, holding on as if he needed it to keep upright.

James is still wearing his waistcoat, and the smartly fitted fabric is starting to become stifling. He reaches a hand in between them to scramble at the buttons. They are kissing again, messily, with Murdoch’s mouth on James’s lips, cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and James doesn’t want to step back from that even if it would make it easier for him to get the waistcoat off. He doesn’t want to spook Murdoch either, by possibly going too far too fast. But when Murdoch realizes what he’s trying to do, he separates them, holding James at arm’s length, and undoes the buttons himself, quickly and efficiently. As James slips the waistcoat off, Murdoch runs a hand over James’s side and back. There are still two layers of fabric between his fingers and James’s skin, but it feels far more intimate than expected. James takes a step forward, bringing them together again, and it is very easy now to tug at Murdoch’s shirt, pulling it free and slipping a hand under the hem. First, he runs a hand over the fabric of the undershirt, then he pushes that up as well and he is touching skin at last, warm and soft under his fingers. Murdoch gasps at the first brush of fingers against his back, then he tears at James’s clothes until he can reciprocate the gesture. His hands are insistent, roaming over James’s back as if he wants to map it, learn it by touch.

There is another slightly awkward moment of unfastening the buttons of collars, shirts and cuffs, until they can both shed all clothing from their upper bodies. The workshop is insufficiently heated, and the cool air makes James shudder, and Murdoch’s hands are deliciously warm when they embrace a moment later. James kisses Murdoch’s exposed neck and chest, getting gasps and half-choked moans in response.

“We can’t”, Murdoch says, and James hides a grimace against his neck. This is definitely not the time for Murdoch to get coy, or for his conscience to catch up with him. But in the next moment, Murdoch continues, “We can’t, not here-“

James is happy to cut him off by steering him towards the door to the small cottage adjoining the large workshop shed. There, the air is warmer, welcoming them as they stumble through the doorway without being able to stop touching, caressing, kissing. Somehow, they make their way up the stairs to the bedroom without broken necks.

This cottage is far from the luxury James one had, but there are some comforts he won’t go without. A good bed with good bedding is amongst those. He turns the covers and guides Murdoch down to lie against the smooth silk sheet. Murdoch has closed his eyes and breathes in deeply in appreciation. James can only imagine what he must be used to at home – the cheap, rough or too worn linen of a boarding house is nothing James wants to endure. The whimsical thought that he might send some of his own sheets as a gift crosses his mind. Murdoch would probably refuse them anyhow. He shakes the thought away as Murdoch reaches out to drag him down beside him.

Murdoch isn’t experienced by any means, but he’s no blushing virgin either. James has wondered about that. Fantasised, if he has to be honest. This, reality, is perfect in all its eager awkwardness. Murdoch clings to James, threading his fingers through James’s hair, stroking over his back and arms, but keeps to James’s upper body. When James reaches down to unbutton Murdoch’s trousers, Murdoch twists and bucks against James’s hand, gasping at the contact. His eyes are closed, his face drawn together in an expression that looks almost pained. He’s still not touching anything below James’s belt, and James decides not to push him too far. Instead, he makes quick work of removing first Murdoch’s trousers and then his own.

James would like to drag this out, make it last, but now isn’t the time for that. He has countless other ideas that will likewise have to wait or, more likely, be confined to his fantasies. Getting this far is miraculous enough, and he’ll keep it simple for now. He wraps a hand around Murdoch’s cock and begins stroking, slowly and gently at first.

“James, please”, Murdoch breathes, and James tightens his grip, going faster. Murdoch groans and buries his face in James’s neck. It doesn’t take him long to reach completion, tensing and then going very still in James’s arms. “Oh, God”, he says shakily. “James, I…”

James kisses him, not really wanting to hear either regrets or expressions of love. After a short while, Murdoch breaks the kiss.

“James, should I…?”

“Do as you want”, James answers, rougher than he means to. He’s still hard, his body longing desperately for release, but he has no wish of Murdoch reciprocating just out of obligation. To forestall this, he reaches down to finish himself off. After a few strokes, he can feel Murdoch’s fingers wrapping around his own. He comes far quicker than he wants to admit.

James allows himself a few minutes of triumphant bliss, studying Murdoch’s flushed face and disheveled hair, all his work. Then he rises, fetching a basin of warm water and a washcloth to clean them both up.

“There is a guest room”, James says, “but I’m too tired to show you there. Unless you insist.”

Murdoch nods lazily. He seems utterly spent and more than half asleep. James climbs in beside him. He tells himself that this sleeping arrangement is for convenience, nothing more. It wouldn’t do to admit that this simple feeling of having another body next to his, warm and welcoming, is something he has missed since… since the whole business with Sally. Inventing is enough to keep his mind occupied and his days filled, but this is something that cannot be so easily replaced.  
James sleeps, deep and dreamless, and doesn’t wake until he can feel Murdoch stirring and rising to sit leaning against the headboard. He keeps his eyes closed, shifting slightly away, allowing Murdoch the opportunity to get dressed and slip out if he so wishes. Mornings after usually means regrets, and he would give Murdoch the chance to pretend nothing happens. But instead of feeling the bed shift as Murdoch leaves it, he feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Good morning”, Murdoch says, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

They get dressed. Murdoch borrows a comb and a razor, and is soon back to his usual neat appearance. James watches him, uneasy. He’s waiting for a reaction, was prepared for remorse or even anger. The lack of anything like it is unsettling, and makes him dread that an opposite reaction might take place instead.

“I need to go.”

“Of course”, James says quickly.

“We’ll have to finish another time”, Murdoch continues. “I mean, not with the…” He stutters, and waves a hand to indicate the bed, James, all that happened the night before.

“Of course”, James repeats. “My workshop is yours to command at any time, Murdoch.”

“William, please.” Murdoch smiles.

James can see it now, how Murdoch is a better man even than he thought, how he doesn’t allow himself to run from what he’s done, even though it is against all his principles. If he was a woman, this might be when Murdoch offered to… James shakes himself, managing to smile back.

“William, then.”

He holds out his hand, and Murdoch takes it. The handshake is just the slightest fraction too long, Murdoch’s thumb brushing over James’s knuckles and James’s treacherous fingers stretching out to maintain contact for another second when they let go. Then Murdoch is out of the door.

This will not happen again.


End file.
